As he walked, with his guts hanging out, back towards his flat, he could feel that the seasons were changing. There was a crisp coolness in the air that made him wish that he had worn a coat. Autumn was not a particularly special time in Crackerley. Whereas most towns would benefit from a rusty rainbow of colours sprinkled all over the trees, all Crackerley had to offer was a few fake bushes bedded in concrete on the main street. But the fresh, crisp air was nice and sent a thrill through Derek all the way down into his boxer shorts.
‘What a waste of money,’ he thought, staring down at his pelvis as he walked, much to the disgust of a mother passing with her two young children. ‘Maybe I could take them back,’ he continued, hoping that he had not left any dubious stains or marks. ‘Would anyone notice’ he wondered, before deducing that returning them would be a bit gross for the next purchaser and that just because Felicity would not get to experience their one-hundred percent cotton charms, it didn’t mean that he should write them off completely. They were staying, both pairs and he would wear them. With his new enthused determination, Derek managed to divert his attention from his nether regions and speed up the walk home.
He was hungry. He had not yet eaten lunch and breakfast now seemed like a very long time ago. Dissecting the contents of his kitchen cupboards in his head, Derek eventually came to the realization that unless he wanted beans on socks for his lunch then he would have to go to the shop. He stopped suddenly, standing like a scarecrow in the middle of the pavement, trying to decide what to do. The shop was back towards the library. It was only a few minutes walk away, but Derek was reluctant to take the risk of seeing Felicity and her exotic boyfriend. He just couldn’t get his head around why she had been so friendly to him if she wasn’t interested. Or why she had said that she had no luck with men, when she was clearly dating the best looking man in Crackerley. Derek knew he, however, was somewhere near the bottom of that list. In fact, he was probably on Crackerley’s least wanted list. So, unable to comprehend risking any more humiliation, he decided to settle for a chippy for the first time in ages.
His stomach flipped like a Chinese Olympic gymnast as he shuffled through the beaded door. Relief was contradicted by disappointment as he realized that Donna wasn’t there. Instead, it was the scrawny boy who looked like the only chips he ever ate were covered with heroin.
‘Yep,’ Wesley grunted, barely looking up.
Derek, inspired by his new boxers, fancied trying something different to his usual and stared in through the perspex heat plates to the array of grease caked meats and then up to the appetizing menu above.
Wesley wasn’t impressed and stood waiting, arms crossed, lip snarled.
‘Chicken burger, please,’ Derek announced, happy with his decision.
‘It’ll be ten minutes,’ Wesley stated, trying to encourage a slightly easier choice.
‘And chips,’ Derek added, unfazed by the short wait.
He propped himself up on the counter and watched Wesley reluctantly make his lunch.
‘Donna not in today?’ he bravely asked.
‘Nah, she’s sick.’
‘Oh no, nothing too serious I hope,’ Derek replied, genuinely concerned.
Wesley sniggered, ‘She’s fine, recons she’s got a cold but I’d say from what a grumpy old cow she’s been recently that she’s probably got the painters in.’
‘Well, I hear it is very hard to find good tradesmen these days,’ Derek responded, confused by the link between Donna’s illness and her home renovations, but somehow he didn’t think Wesley was all there in the head. ‘Well, will you tell her that I said hello,’ he blurted, unable to control himself.
Wesley stopped, snarled at him again, before grabbing some paper and a pen and replying, ‘Do it yourself.’
Derek was shocked. He had wanted the boy to say hi to her for him, as a relaxed greeting and subtle apology. But now he was faced with ink and a flattened tree begging to be covered with deepest apologies and deposits of love. Derek stared at it as though his fate lay in its hands, before shuffling away to the window seat for some privacy.
‘Dear Donna,’ he wrote before downsizing to ‘Hello Donna,’ and finally arriving at just ‘Donna’.
After ten minutes of decision making, Derek finally completed his note. It read:
Donna. Come in for some chips. Wanted to say hello. Derek
Stood next to Shakespeare or some romantic French poetry, it would have looked like letter suicide. But Derek felt as though he had laid himself open. He knew that he didn’t stand a hope in hell with Donna, but he just wanted to tell her that he was sorry.
‘Ready!’ Wesley shouted, as though the chip shop was busy.
Derek paused before heading up to the counter, his note clutched tightly.
‘Can you give this to Donna for me then?’ he asked cautiously.
‘Love letter, is it?’ Wesley grunted mockingly.
‘No, no it’s not,’ Derek stammered awkwardly.
‘Rather you than me,’ Wesley sniggered.
Derek was mortified, wishing he had never written the stupid note, before scurrying out of the door. As he did, he managed to ram his chicken burger forcefully into a passerby.
‘Watch it, you twat!’ was the aggressive reply, before the pedestrian looked up. ‘Stoner!...Derek? Derek…Derek Stone,’ the man said, a smile now squeezing itself onto his handsomely chiseled cheeks.
Despite the obvious reference to the fact that they knew each other, Derek grunted a hello and continued towards his front door.
‘Derek, it’s me! Richard. Richard Doors. Dick…Dicky…Dick Doors’
Derek stopped and turned around, squinting strenuously to put a face to the name.
‘Hello, Richard. How have you…uh…been?’ Derek stammered awkwardly.
‘Ah, mate, it’s been years, so good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit!’
Derek was rather taken aback by the overtly friendly manner with which Richard was communicating with him. Because, as far as Derek was concerned, they had never been friends. Richard, or Dick Doors as he had been more commonly known as, had been at school with Derek. They weren’t in the same social circles because Derek’s circle had been more like a dot and as far from social as possible. But they had been in a few of the same classes. One of which was maths.
Derek had never quite had the same passion for numbers as he did for words, but there had been a little ray of sunshine in the desk in front of him that had helped him to stay alert. Her name was Mary and luckily for Derek, her maths was worse than his. So Derek would eagerly await algebra and arithmetic incase the sweet and lovely Mary White needed some help. He was always on hand with a spare protractor, pencil or the answers to the homework and Mary had always managed to thank him with sparkly eyes and a smile that could power Dagenham.
When Derek had been fourteen, his school had held a dance. Knowing full well that his grandmother would never have let him go, Derek had not told her and had instead plotted a plan to go without her ever finding out. Due to ‘Saved by the Bell’ and ‘Beverley Hills 90210’ a trend had emerged for taking dates to the dance and Derek had been desperate to ask Mary.
It had been after PE class and a rowdy bunch of boys had been excitedly chatting, whilst layering their uniforms decoratively over their sweaty frames. Derek had been fumbling around trying to find a way into his sweatshirt, when the dance conversation had come up. The boys had reeled off a list of the most popular girls, making crude noises and thrusting their pelvises as they did. Thanks to ‘Wayne’s World’, schwing was the word of the week. Derek had kept quiet but was definitely listening. But when the questioning had come around to him, he had frozen.
‘Who’s Derek taking?’ one of the boys had laughed.
‘I don’t know,’ Derek had said, trying to tactfully avoid the subject.
‘What are you gay or something?’ someone had piped up.
‘No….no…no I’m not. I just don’t want to tell you, that’s all,’ Derek
had replied, standing his ground.
‘Told you he’s gay!’ the taunting continued.
‘I’m not,’ Derek had replied sulkily.
‘Well, who are you going to ask then?’ Richard had prodded, desperate for an answer.
Derek had no choice but to give up.
‘Mary,’ he had muttered inaudibly.
‘What, Stoner? Didn’t quite catch that.’
‘Mary!’ Derek had shouted angrily, surprised at himself.
‘Mary!’ Richard had squeaked, whilst laughter had erupted from all corners of the room. ‘You want to ask tiny little Mary White?’ he had continued, seemingly unable to comprehend it.
‘Yes,’ Derek had replied, uncomfortable with the probing.
‘And you’ve seen the hairy mole she’s got on her neck and you know her Dad’s a Gypo in jail, don’t ya?’
‘I don’t care,’ Derek had defended.
‘That he got done for murder.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘No, he didn’t’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Well, I don’t care,’ Derek had mustered, ‘I think she’s very pretty and I’m going to ask her.’
‘Good for you, Stoney,’ Richard had responded, slapping him on the back. ‘Good luck!’
And with that the locker room had emptied into giggles again and Derek had pushed himself as deep into the corner as was physically possible.
Later that week, Derek had been in his double maths lesson and as usual Mary’s cute little brunette bob had been shining glossily in front of him. Seizing the moment, Derek had hurriedly scribbled, ‘Will you go to the dance with me?’ on a page from his squared notebook, folding it repeatedly to ensure complete privacy. He had sat with it in his hand for a while, trying to pluck up the courage, before finally attempting to pass it to her. But unfortunately for Derek, it had been stealthily intercepted by the efficient eyed teacher.
‘I’ll take that,’ he had said smugly, in a thick northern accent, ripping it from Derek’s hand. ‘Let’s see what Derek’s got to say to the rest of the class, shall we?’
Derek’s face had gone redder than a ginger in Africa and Mary had shuffled awkwardly with the realization that the note was meant for her. He was sure that he had seen a glimmer of evil in the teacher’s eyes as he had read it aloud.
‘Will you go to the dance with me? Why, thank you, Derek, I’d love too,’ the teacher had responded sarcastically.
‘It wasn’t meant for you, it was meant for Mary,’ Derek had defended deflated.
‘Well let’s just see if Mary wants to go with him, shall we?’
‘No!’ Derek had attempted but to no avail.
‘So, Mary, would you like to go to the dance with Derek, as he has so kindly decided to ask you in front of the whole class in the middle of my maths lesson!’
‘I can’t,’ Mary had muttered cautiously under her breath.
This had encouraged the sniggering from the rest of the class to grow.
‘I’m sorry, what was that?’
‘I can’t, I’m sorry, Derek,’ Mary had said as she smiled weakly. ‘I already said I’d go with Richard. Sorry, Derek.’
And that was pretty much the only memory Derek had of Richard. So, needless to say, he wasn’t overly enthused to see him eighteen years on. But he was shocked into pretending otherwise.
‘Let’s get a beer. Do you fancy grabbing a beer and catching up?’ Richard continued, confusing Derek with his friendliness.
Despite Derek’s reluctance to be reacquainted with the guy, he was unable to think of a feasible excuse. So he agreed and spent the next few hours at the pub with the very sticky Dicky Doors.
15
DING DONGER
Down the road, in a different pub, Sean arrived back at the table with a cocktail, a pint and two ominous looking shots.
‘Hi, gorgeous,’ Felicity purred, pinching his perfectly pert bottom.
‘Careful! I’ll spill ‘em,’ Sean snapped.
‘Sorry,’ she apologized bemused.
‘So where were we?’ he relaxed, having put the drinks down on the table.
He caught hold of her face and leant in for an all consuming snog. As much as she tried not to, Felicity couldn’t help but feel disappointed at his technique. His lips were ripe and plump but his tongue sat fat and heavy in her mouth. As soon as she opened her eyes though, she was overcome by the sheer beauty of him and ready to head in for another session. Managing to divert her attention away from him for a moment, she noticed the drinks.
‘What the fuck?’ she squealed amidst a nervous giggle.
‘Black Sambucca,’ Sean replied proudly. ‘You’ll love it, lady.’
Felicity looked skeptical but picked it up anyway.
‘Ready? One...two…three!’
The pair downed their shots. Sean finished with a surprisingly white grin and Felicity finished hers with a chunder.
‘Ah! That’s rank!’ she exclaimed, sticking her tongue out at occasional intervals in disgust. ‘Tastes like fucking cough medicine, liquorice flavoured cough medicine!’
‘You don’t like it?’ Sean asked, surprised yet indifferent.
‘Give me a moment and I’ll be fine,’ Felicity attempted to redeem herself.
‘Can’t take the pace, is it?’ he mocked.
‘Hang on a minute! Just cause I didn’t like your foul excuse for a shot, does not mean that I should be labeled a lightweight.’
‘Well what would you drink, Miss Heavyweight?’
‘Vodka.’
‘Predictable’
‘Baileys.’
‘Nah, not a shot.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Nah, it’s not.’
‘Tequila then.’
‘Ooh, tequila,’ Sean replied, as he pounced on her for another snog and nestled his tongue on the bottom of her mouth.
Once they had come up for air, Felicity drunkenly began singing, ‘Tequila, you make me happy, oh tequila you make me high, da da da da…’ she had forgotten the words, but she didn’t mind.
But Sean, on the other hand, didn’t seem amused and pushed Felicity’s cocktail unsubtly towards her.
‘You trying to get me drunk, Mr.…Mr…’ Felicity paused, realizing that she had no recollection of his surname. ‘Mr…Sean,’ she finished messily.
Sean laughed half heartedly.
‘It’s Murbank! And yes, I am trying to get you drunk. I thought that was the plan.’
‘Oooh, now I can sleep with you!’ Felicity gargled happily.
Sean was unsure whether his license to shag was granted due to the excessive amount of alcohol he was plying her with or whether it was because she had just learnt his surname. Either way was fine by him.
Felicity draped herself on his shoulder for support, before realizing that she was lying on the leanest and most perfectly formed bicep that she had ever groped.
‘Mmmm,’ she sighed licking her lips. ‘Where did you get these!’
This was an opportunity for Sean to give a neat little one liner or merely accept the compliment quickly and graciously. Instead he began on the one man show that was Sean and his muscles.
‘It’s all about combining cardio and strength, a lot of people just do one. But in order to get the maximum from your training you need to combine them. Like, on an average day I would start with a five mile cycle, followed by some weighted squats…’
As Sean continued to give a second by second account of his fitness regime, Felicity let the words glide over her like foreplay. She pictured his arse being squeezed like a rock in front of her face. She visualized him doing bench presses naked with her as the weights and she began to wonder whether all the muscles in his body were capable of that feat.
But Felicity had been sipping on her cocktail like a cure for small tits and so her bladder was beginning to feel like the Pacific had moved in. She squirmed uncomfortably whilst Sean continued on his egotistical br
eakdown.
‘Ladies room!’ she suddenly squealed, sprinting towards the toilets.
Sean, being Sean, took this as an invitation to join her and swaggered along after her.
Felicity’s bottom nestled uncomfortably on the filthy seat, letting out a vocal release as she emptied her Pringles tube. Whilst she pissed, she attempted to read the graffiti drenched walls, but her vision was blurred and despite the clarity of, ‘Tracey woz ere,’ and ‘A 4 P 4EVA,’ Felicity was able to make little sense of it.
Standing up, she managed to steady herself on the toilet paper dispenser. She paused there for a moment, with her trousers down around her ankles.
‘Oi! Sexy!’ she heard a voice shout.
‘Sean?’
‘Come out here.’
Felicity panicked, fumbling her trousers up and triple checking her flies. Running her fingers through her now slightly matted copper hair, she plucked up the courage to open the door.
Sean greeted her by shoving her back against the sink and running his stubble spluttered chin painfully yet seductively up and down her neck.
‘You’re so hot,’ he oozed, slurping at her face like a Cornetto and running his hands forcefully over the top of her clothes.
When he made an attempt at her breasts, Felicity managed to divert his hands to her arse instead, before raising herself niftily onto the sink and wrapping her legs tightly around the top of his thighs. Suddenly she became aware of some sort of gigantic UFO floating between them. Just as she was about to discover its true identity, a plump girl walked in. She looked at Felicity, then at Sean, before deciding to take a piss anyway. Following the girl’s lead, Sean continued on his mission to eat Felicity, and although Felicity felt very slutty about the whole situation, she let Sean continue. After all, she had dreamt of this moment ever since she had first laid eyes on him.
The Coming of Derek (a quirky comedy) Page 7